“There is a specific joy that you get from being able to hold your music. Most children in 2017 have lived their whole lives without ever doing so, not even CDs.”
“I grew up going through my parents’ records, reading the liner notes, handling the record on the turntable and hearing the scratch that comes after the needle drops and before the song plays. All of this used to be synonymous with listening to music, now we wirelessly hook up our cell phones to a speaker and search the likes of Spotify (even too impatient to make a proper playlist) for whatever song we think of at that moment. Vinyl records are the physical representation of the art of music.
My first experience with vinyl was a child rummaging through my parents’ collection using an old turntable in their basement. Through my mother I was exposed to Simon & Garfunkel, Gordon Lightfoot, Joan Baez, The Beatles, Herman’s Hermits, and James Taylor. My dad was big classical fan, who also had a love for John Philip Sousa marches.
As a father now, having children who have experienced music solely through the radio and streaming services, I wanted to give them a more tangible experience. The thought that recognizing a record by the album cover is a rarity for a young person today terrified me. About a year ago I got a new turntable and instead of trying to shove my favorite records down their throats, I just decided to get my daughter Taylor Swift’s 1989 on vinyl. This was an album she already loved and now she would be able to actually have it, physically. She loved it, and now uses the turntable often, and I have caught her reading the liner notes, just like a proper music fan should.
This year, for my birthday, my 12-year-old son bought me The Misfits Walk Among Us which was my favorite when I was his age. We now have nights of playing records, wavering between my choices (which are never wildly appreciated), to their choices, which even if it’s Top 40 pop music, it’s the same needle and the same scratch.”
—Eric Osterman
“Growing up my Dad had a great stereo and speaker set-up with a pretty sweet record collection. I could dig through it and find things from Arlo Guthrie to Kraftwerk. Even at pretty young age I was weirdly obsessed with music. I used to get home from school to a big empty farmhouse when I was like twelve years old, and instead of watching cartoons on TV, I’d dig through my Dad’s records and lay on the this old white rug and just listen to them by myself.”
“By far my first album love of particular significance was the White Album. That record not only contains a personal history for me, but a family history. My sister was named after “Rocky Raccoon,” and of course later, the Magill from Eric & Magill stems from it. I think about my parents listening to that record with their first child on the way and trying to decide on a name. Fast forward to their teenage son, and I was throwing that same track on the turntable years later. Even more recently since I’ve married, I’ve had to try to explain “Revolution 9” to my wife (still not convinced).
In terms of the physical nature of that particular album I think the Rutherford Chang installation captures it so brilliantly.
My copy has a phone number probably written in the 1960s on the inside cover. It’s got some scribbles. It’s aged and the spine is frayed. It’s missing a piece of paper. Like people, like families, my copy’s got a unique history and beauty to it, even if it skips or scratches here and there, or even if not everyone understands it or fully appreciates it (like “Revolution 9″), it’s mine and it’s perfect and I love that record.”
—Ryan Weber
Eric & Magill’s full length release, Peach Colored Oranges is in stores now.
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PHOTO: CAITLIN KALINOSKI
